


we keep dreaming of the ocean

by soliloquium



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Antonio is a mess, Childhood Friends, Epic, Humor, I can’t believe I’m writing an alter gone wrong story, M/M, Wedding, and lovino is here to fix him, but we all know that’s not how this is going to end, but who fixes lovino, human verse, in a small town, i’d tag it as spabel, spamano - Freeform, unrequited love that ends up not so unrequited but sh no spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-14 19:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquium/pseuds/soliloquium
Summary: he knows him in his bones, in his very marrowAntonio’s getting married and best man Lovino does his best to stitch him back together before the ceremony. Even if it’s at his own expense.





	1. monday broke my heart

The golden band gleamed obnoxiously in its shitty little satin bed. It was ridiculous how much pomp was given to these things as a general rule (the box cover itself had a golden inlay. Really?) but this ring in itself was hideous. The band was too thick, the diamond too protruding, too expensive.

He’d been there, cringing as Antonio had withdrawn the 6000 from the bank. (“that’s the national average according to google,” he’d said, solemn and sad, “I can’t give Bella much but I refuse to give her less than average.”

“The national average is only that high because the bastardised 1% spends a couple hundred thousand dollars on this shit, stupid.”

“I refuse to argue with google, lovino, I’ve learnt my lesson from the kidney incident. It is all knowing and all seeing.” )

Really, if anyone had asked lovino, and it was good that no one did, he’d have said that Weddings were a stupid excuse to shove your romance in everyone else’s face because you weren’t confident in it yourself. Because really, why else would you invite a hundred people, half of whom were carbon copies of your homophobic, grumpy Aunt Rosa who had to the propensity for telling you you both didn’t eat enough and were getting fat in one sitting.

Maybe it was just that Lovino didn’t like spending money.

Maybe it was just that he didn’t like grand gestures because feelings made him embarrassed and he begrudged anyone who had more courage than him.

Maybe he just didn’t like romance. 

In any case, it wasn’t his wedding. A dull ache of his chest. Sigh. He’d get used to it.

He pushed open the door, irritable and unhinged and holding the ring case with one hand, “The caterers got the order wrong. I said Alfredo pasta and they got white sauce- white SAUCE- I’ve never been more insul- the fuck are you doing?”

Antonio paused from his perch on the windowsill. He looked dazzling in his suit, hair tousled, (Lovino had picked it, of course, the idiot had no idea what fitted cuffs meant). One foot was already half way out the door, “escaping. I’m not ready, Lovino, I’m just not.”

“Well are you ready to get shot because that’s what Lars is going to do when he finds you left his sister at the alter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, lovino. Lars wouldn’t shoot me. He’d hang me up by feet, cut bits of my flesh off and feed it to me and _then _he’d shoot me.”

Lovino cracked a smile, like an egg splitting open, unwilling. The yolk of their friendship pooled between them, twenty years.

“Are you going to come down here or am I going to have to make you?”

Antonio jokingly considered for a moment but, when Lovino narrowed his eyes, he thought better of it, “I’m not ready. I’m just a boy. Only 27- too young, too beautiful-“

“Cut the crap,” Lovino said shortly, yanking him down. You never let Antonio start describing emotions because 8/10 times he’d lie, go on a tangent about something he didn’t feel. It was easy to slide out of difficult conversations when people thought you were stupid. 

He fixed Antonio’s hair and in that touch was a secret message, one they had curated for a middle aged life time.Lovino didn’t do affection, generally.

“It’s not crap,” Antonio protested, “I am young. And not ready. And I’m being forced into this-“

“You proposed to her,” Lovino reminded him, trying to keep level.

“Because that’s what I thought was the right thing to do,” he cried, putting his head in his hands, “but this isn’t right, lovino, I can feel it in my bones.”

“Antonio.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Antonio was about to open his mouth, let the rest of the half assed excuses fall out but Lovino covered his mouth, suddenly bursting, “you’re not allowed to fuckin’ do this. You’re not allowed to fuckin’ fall apart right now, when you’ve had 9 months to rethink this- and you’re not rethinking. You’re playing at the cliche. You’re over dramatic and you watch too many shitty Novelas.”

The words hit Antonio like bombs. He took a moment to digest this; it wasn’t particularly appetising information. But Lovino knew him down to the bone of his marrow, to the strings of his DNA. A whisper, “I’m still nervous. What if I’m not good enough for her- she’s smart and pretty and kind and I’m stupid and bored easily and I fidget too much and I’m bad at channeling my anger and my favourite movie is the lion king- her’s is Gone Girl-“

“Hey, listen, no- no, no; you’re not going to go fall into one of your fuckin insecurity jokes today,” lovino’s anger was white hot, “listen to me- and I mean fucking listen for once. You might be fuckin’ stupid but it’s the entertaining kind of stupid. And you’re stupid only in some ways. And while you might be the densest person on the planet and even though you lie too much and your taste in films is below average at best and you’re hard to read when you’re pissed and even though your other friends suck ass and even though you add way too much sugar to churros and though you’re unnecessarily competitive at Fortnite-“

“Lovino... I think you may have lost the point... of this conversation....”

“Shut up,” his face was a bright, exhilarating red, “my point is that you’re a fuck up. But you’re also fucking amazing. You can do sports, you can dance, you can cook, you could fucking model if you wanted to. You’re more sympathetic than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re more carefree than anyone I’ve ever met. You live your life like it’s one big fucking lazy summer day and that’s.Nice. It’s a real fucking nice change of pace in this shitty ass rat race of a world.”

Antonio blinked. The corners of his mouth turned up, just a tad, say fifteen degrees. The smile that spoke of unspoken devotion and gratitude. Lovino has memorised it, selfishly, for years as he played Antonio’s confidant.

“You always know what to say, huh, Lovi?” There was a sprinkle of awe in that voice and Lovino hated it. 

“We need to stop this.”

The seconds stretched until they were miles long.

“What do you,” Antonio’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, sad green eyes that held the world, “what do you mean?”

Lovino balled his hands into fists. Clench, unclench. He’d prepared himself for this conversation in the bathroom mirror eight times, “I can’t keep playing your therapist. I’m not your emotional support dog.”

“Of course you’re not- you’re so much more than that, you’re-“

“Not your boyfriend,” Lovino cut in, detached and precise. Like a surgeon sinking in that knife, severing the heart. There was a human life at stake but the good doctor can never afford to panic, to show emotion, “you need to talk these things over with Emma. It should be her here, not me. I shouldn’t have to convince you to marry, convince you to propose, tell you how to fucking reconcile with your brother- shouldn’t be the one worrying over the wedding details and what corsage goes where because I apparently care more than you about this- I shouldn’t be the one you call at 3 AM when you’re sad and thinking about your dad-“

“Because you’ve known me since forever!”

“And so has she, Antonio. I can’t keep taking her place. Not in good fucking conscious. Not when you two are married. I’m not your fucking security blanket. And I’m not your wife.”

There was a knock on the door; a death toll. The guillotine was ready for them at the alter. Lovino stared at the ground, Antonio stared at him, his eyes a mystery that was no longer Lovi’s to solve.

“Lovino.. let me-“

“We need to go. It’s time for the ceremony to start.”

Lovino closed the door behind him without looking back.

Oh well. It was Belle’s parents who were paying for this wedding. And the endless bar. Lovino could now treat himself without guilt and just the right amount of self righteousness to a nice malt whiskey.


	2. just keep swimming

The rest of the wedding goes as expected: disastrously.

After Lovino’s dramatic exit (which he, personally, thinks he did quite well.) Antonio runs out after him. And Lovino, being the ingenious Einstein he is, hides behind a curtain and Antonio, being the dumbass that he is, doesn’t realise that Lovino can’t run faster than him. Certainly not in fucking Armani shoes, at least.

So Antonio gets dragged away to the Alter by Francis like a very disturbed puppy and Lovino is left feeling immeasurably pleased with himself because he’s won, hasn’t he?

Ah yes, watching Antonio sweep Belle into a Cinderella ending whilst Lovino gets to do the cliche Pub crawl with Gilbert because Gilbert’s a sucker for drinking his (totally non existent) sadness away and Lovino doesn’t do that pussy stuff where you cry into an ice cream bucket whilst watching The Princess Diaries again for the fifth time this week. A winner’s dream.

Lovino wonders, absently, how far the next Diary Queen would be from the reception hall.

He also considers moving back to Italy and deleting his Instagram because the last thing he needs is to watch Belle honeymoon-kiss Antonio with a Valencia filter.

Whatever.

It’s. Whatever.

So Lovino slinks back to his pew and Feliciano gives him /that look/ with his eyes (which is weird because does Feliciano even really have eyes? Lovino has never bothered looking at him long enough to notice) and whispers, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Lovino folds his legs, trying to seem every bit as put together as he isn’t, “Well, you clearly fucking thought _wrong_.”

Feliciano tries to say something more. Lovino stomps on his foot so hard that he doesn’t (which isn’t that hard, honestly). Brotherly love at its finest.

The hall is a murmur of whispers. Rows and rows of people; here to celebrate Antonio and Belle, because of course, who wouldn’t? They’re both straight and attractive and perfectly nice people that you can later utilise for baby sitting or dog sitting or plant sitting or even rat sitting if you were so inclined. The kind of people that will have a house without arguments, that old church ladies nod approvingly to on the street, that are on the cover of every girl magazine because they are the dream.

And Lovino is not upset by what he can’t have.

Nope.

He will not become a discount version of Gilbert, pinning so ferociously on the life he’d lost that he forgets to realise that he’s drunk on the floor at a bar at 1 am and everyone but Lovino is laughing because Lovino knows.

Lovino will not push Antonio away like Gilbert pushed Eliza.

Besides, Lovino never sends the first text anyways.

Antonio is standing there, opposite end of the aisle but there’s so much feeling coming off of him that Lovino feels heated. He can’t look at him and Antonio won’t look away from him and it’s all a little awkward because everyone’s watching and wasn’t this supposed to start an hour ago?

Then there’s a little buzz in his pocket. And another one. And another one. And Lovino opens his phone to see 8 text messages from Antonio.

Lovinos fingers fumble furiously for a reply, _“don’t text me during your fucking wedding, idiot.”_

_“It hasn’t started yet. Besides, this is more important.”_

_“No, it isn’t.”_

_“Yes, it is. Lovino, please. Just listen to me for a moment.”_

_“No. If you don’t shit it right now I will never speak to you again.”_

The phone is slid back into the tuxedo pocket and Antonio’s typically verdant forest eyes are dark with some sort of pain. And Lovino feels no regret.

Because if you dust things under the rug, Lovino is still allowed to walk uninvited into Antonio’s house at 9 PM on a any day he pleases with his own spare key, grab a beer from Antonio’s fridge and sit on Antonio’s couch to watch football. Their sides forever touching.

That’s all Lovino needs, really.

Time ticks on, a foreign death march. Everyone is fidgeting, silently judging the soap opera before them. Ten minutes go by. Fifteen. Another ten. Fourty five. Someone starts playing Subway Surfers on their phone and forgets to turn off the volume (Alfred probably) but turns it off in an abrupt two seconds. The sound is so jarring it makes Lovino literally get up and snap, “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, IF SHE DOESN’T GET HERE IN THE NEXT TEN MINUTES, I’M GETTING UP THERE AND MARRYING YOU MYSELF.”

As if on cue, the doors open, heart beats race, Lovino wishes he was never born and in strolls

Gilbert?

“Fuck, sorry I’m late guys- I thought white chapel was the on the other side of town, but the best man is here, so let’s get this party star-“

“I’m the best man, you dumb fuck,” Lovino fumed, throwing the bouquet at him. Gilbert catches it because, well, he’s Gilbert and his luck oscillates between stupidly good and like he’s a lead character from “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day”. Thankfully, Ludwig yanks him into a pew before he can say something smug.

Lovino feels very irritated and feels more irritated that he’s the only one that’s irritated. Antonio’s looking forlornly off into the distance like someone’s just pissed on his dog’s grave and everyone else is a mixture of bored, confused and amused. Someone (the priest) was making an Instagram spam post that very moment.

“Jesus, fucking-“Lovino screams in his own head while, outwardly, he takes out his phone, jams the call button on Belle’s number. No response. Again. No response. “I’m going to kill her.”

Finally, Antonio acts sentient again, “Lovi, I think you should calm dow-“

“Don’t you dare fucking tell me to calm down when I’m the only one fucking not calm!”

“Lovino-“

“Not right now Antonio, I’m calling a hitman.”

“Lovino.”

It’s that voice that gets Lovino to look at him. He feels very weak in this moment.

“This is my wedding. My wedding. Not yours.” His voice is soft but confident, convicted. Yet it feels like a kick in the face, “you were right before. I need to start making decisions myself.”

Lovino isn’t sure how to respond. Micromanaging is his coping mechanism after all.

“But-,” he has no idea what he’s protesting. Isn’t this what he said he wanted? Why does he feels like his heart is slipping through his fingers and into quicksand?

“You need to stop treating me like a child, Lovino. I’m not your younger brother.”

“I _know_ that,” lovino retorts, snappish, “I wouldn’t do this for him.”

There’s an offended ‘hey’ from Feli but they both know he would.

“See, you’re not even taking _this_ seriously. It’s like all I say is a joke to you. Like I don’t even know my own thoughts,” exasperation, disappointment leaks through Antonio’s voice like poison and Lovino feels a little nauseous.

So nauseous that he walks out of the church.

Maybe it’s just that he likes being dramatic.

Maybe it’s just that the thought of everyone watching that made him want to throw up.

Maybe it just makes for convenient chapter breaks.

Either way, lovino knee he had ripped something up and thrown the pieces into water. Now to watch them dissolve.

Adulthood was fucking amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> yes we’re naming chapters now. Pls kick my ass so I complete this story. Send me a comment w the foot emoji. (Preferably with some sort of feedback or constructive criticism but no pressure, lads)


End file.
